How To: Do Thanksgiving

Today we get the glorious task of diving into the weeds on the best way to crush my absolute favorite holiday. We’ve talked about some serious subjects before, such as turning negative influence into positive growth, comparing the cost difference between an education in the trades versus a college education, and even how bad I screwed up at life!
Now we get into the really good stuff.

As someone with extensive experience wielding sharp devices in an ungainly and highly injurious manner, I feel that I have become somewhat of an authority on carving things. Mostly myself, which gives me great insight on how best to cut the flesh of something else.
Once you have properly positioned yourself in a place of high authority at the head of the table, reaffirm your stature as the head of the household by going back into the kitchen to collect the bird that you were supposed to bring out earlier. Now try the positioning part again.
Holding your comically oversized knife in one hand and your devilish two-pronged fork in the other, rub the knife vigorously along the shaft of the fork as though you are sharpening it. You’re actually dulling it, but the intent of this activity is simply to show the rest of the family that you absolutely know more than they do about cutting implements.
Now for the main event: flinging bits of meat and gristle around the room. To accomplish this, simply shove the sharp end of your fork anywhere into the turkey, then frantically hack at the bird with sudden jerking movements while offering random anatomical terms to your guests as though you had something enticing.
“Left ventricle, Aunt Shirley? And how about a nice bit of quadricep tendon for you, little Timmy? Hey, where is everyone going?”

As the famous (although recently tainted) comedian Louis CK put it, “You don’t eat until you’re full. You eat until you hate yourself.” Lo, and it was good.
The real point of Thanksgiving, the whole underlying message, is to stuff your gullet until the point that your ears are no longer able to hear sounds due to the internal pressure. This way you can’t hear the angry comments of your racist grandfather talking about how bad it is now that (insert minority group here) has come to town.
If you don’t gain at least 12 pounds in a single sitting at the Thanksgiving table, you are hereby considered un-American. Get back to the table and shove some more stuffing and gravy down your throat, you heathen!

That’s it. A whole year of preparation, a solid three days of collecting food and cooking it, and several hours of suffering through your Uncle Anatole’s chicken-raising anecdotes all done. The table looks like a pack of hyenas found a case of Red Bull before breaking into your refrigerator and dragging the contents out for a dining table mosh pit; your shirt looks like Jackson Pollack found gravy and flannel to be his new medium of choice, and your pants are audibly crying.
Time to get out in the backyard and toss the ol’ pigskin around!
Just kidding! Just the thought of movement is enough to induce a calorie-fueled rage right now. The best you can hope for at this point is to roll out of the dining room chair and waddle over to the nearest soft cushion for a brief coma, er, nap. You’ve earned it!
Once you have convinced the last of your relatives to finally leave you alone and the kitchen has had a good chunk of the grease scraped off of most surfaces, you can give yourself a hearty pat on the back and collapse into your bed for an extended version of your earlier nap. You have successfully completed a Thanksgiving miracle! You didn’t’t strangle anybody! Hopefully you didn’t even get arrested! Now you can relax for a… oh, crap! Christmas shopping already?!